Sunset boat landscape artwork painting andres ramos

Paperbird

United States

Potterhead, Slytherin, and the Oxford Comma.

Message from Writer

"Have a biscuit, Potter."
-McGonagall

Sunset boat landscape artwork painting andres ramos
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A Thing Based Off Of A Dream I Had

FREE WRITING

I don't know what happened to me.
    I am a normal kid.  Fourteen years old––almost fifteen.  I have a lot of thick hair.  I have this habit of squinting up my eyes when I'm nervous, and biting my nails.  My face is darkened from the beach last summer.
    Believe me, I don't know what happened to me.
    One day it just sort of––I don't know.  It struck me.  Power.  Lots of power.  And suddenly...

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Sunset boat landscape artwork painting andres ramos

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Word

PROMPT: Fernweh

Novoxisus
Noun
Definition: An exchanged look that says a lot of things without speech.
Origins: Vox=sound, visus=sight, non=no
 

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unflourished

FREE WRITING

People asked him why he looked so odd.  His eyes were blurred as though by a vast length of water, their whites barely white, the irises dashed across the pupil like they were seared into his lids.  His mouth was a small hole.  His ears were boxes, amplifiers that received sound and sound alone.
    Every time they asked, he got angrier.  He shouted at them.  He was a lone child, standing far apart from anyone else, a fallen,...

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Skating

FREE WRITING

Her presence was like ice.  I could sense it in her.  Her cold, sharp eyes were the icicles, and her large feet and strong knees were the ice skates, gliding back and forth.  She almost moved to the rhythm of skating.

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Published Work

A Thing Based Off Of A Dream I Had

I don't know what happened to me.
    I am a normal kid.  Fourteen years old––almost fifteen.  I have a lot of thick hair.  I have this habit of squinting up my eyes when I'm nervous, and biting my nails.  My face is darkened from the beach last summer.
    Believe me, I don't know what happened to me.
    One day it just sort of––I don't know.  It struck me.  Power.  Lots of power.  And suddenly I could do anything I wanted.  Like, anything.  If I wanted my homework done without actually doing it, it would do itself.  If my grandmother didn't put enough milk in the cereal, I could make it milkier.  If I shattered a plate, or spilled some water, or broke the lead on my pencil, it would fix itself.  The plate would mend itself and fly back to the shelf.  The water would evaporate the moment it touched the floor.  The pencil...

Fernweh

Word

Novoxisus
Noun
Definition: An exchanged look that says a lot of things without speech.
Origins: Vox=sound, visus=sight, non=no
 

unflourished

People asked him why he looked so odd.  His eyes were blurred as though by a vast length of water, their whites barely white, the irises dashed across the pupil like they were seared into his lids.  His mouth was a small hole.  His ears were boxes, amplifiers that received sound and sound alone.
    Every time they asked, he got angrier.  He shouted at them.  He was a lone child, standing far apart from anyone else, a fallen, disfigured walnut under the tree that was everything.  He yelled terrible things at them, in such projection they shrank back, tumbling across the leaf-strewn grass to the cluster of familiar vegetation.  They were cowards that way.
    He was not a coward.  He stood by, his neck straight and his ears perked and his face fierce like a lion.  As a lion his features looked different, proud, not human.  As a lion he could be anything, until he returned...

Skating

Her presence was like ice.  I could sense it in her.  Her cold, sharp eyes were the icicles, and her large feet and strong knees were the ice skates, gliding back and forth.  She almost moved to the rhythm of skating.

Ten Words to You

(Southern) United States

It's winter and it's wonderful; at last things are cold.

Ten Words to You

(Southern) United States

It's winter and it's wonderful, at last things are cold.

Setting as Mood

Street

The place felt different now, unknown and faceless.  The streets were paved with grime.  The stench of cigarette smoke clung to the air.  The sky itself had turned a downcast, hazy shade of gray.  The buildings were little better.  Every one of them was decrepit, and looked as though it hadn't been used for a few decades.  One storefront held items that must have once been lively and colorful, but now matched perfectly with the surroundings: a squashed rubber duck, crumpled to a heap; a chipped teacup with the handle missing; a worn hat whose silk had all torn off.  Robbie walked up and down the streets, his face bent, kicking hard at a dislodged pebble.  It was as though he had been there a century ago, when the sky was still bright and the shops were full of lively activity.  He sat down, his hands scraping against the slabbed ragged sidewalk.  His very weight seemed to make it sag...

A Writing Piece?????

We are not humans, and we are one.  Our brains think as one.  Our brains do connect to other brains and correlate in most odd ways.  Our minds are odd shapes in the darkness of thought, because thought is nothing.  We know this as one.  Our minds are connected by a thick strand like a telescope, and we can see everything.  We can prod.  We can try to correct, and we can see directly into one another and know and think.
    Our spirits are braided, and we know this as one.  We have no braids but if we did our spirits would be braided.
    We are mischievous creatures.  Our very existence proves our tendency to defy the unspoken rules.  We collect the rules.  We put them in a basket, and we sling the basket high in the air, and we let the rules fall and fall forever.
And there’s a story, too.  There’s always a story.
We know...

Hogwarts House Quotes (A Very Random Piece)

    Have you read Harry Potter?
    If not, none of this will make sense.  If so (good for you!) read on.
    I've compiled a list of quotes that describe each Hogwarts House in my opinion.  I don't really know why I wrote this piece, I just found some really good quotes and wanted to share them.  Below is a description of each House and why I think the quotes match the House's culture.  If you've already read my piece on my interpretation of the Hogwarts Houses, you'll know that this sort of fits into that.

Ravenclaw:
"Curiosity will conquer fear even more than bravery will." -James Stephens
"Curiosity is not a sin." -Albert Einstein
"Never be afraid to sit awhile and think." -Lorraine Hansberry
"Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers." -Voltaire

Slytherin:
"We fail?  But screw your courage to the sticking place and we'll not fail." -William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
"Ambition is the path to success.  Persistence...

A Night Symphony

The night was beautiful.  The frame fitted waves of indigo tundra, speckled by tiny golden stars.  The air was sweetly scented, like perfume, but not perfume, and he stood here breathing it in hard through his nose as small tears rolled down his cheeks.
    He sobbed bitterly, some mixture of snot and bile filling his throat and subsiding again, his aspects gurgling, bubbling like a stream.  A soft stream, whose gentle rushing was almost like music.
    And music did play loudly, distantly, the blaring sounds coming from far off, the tune dazzlingly familiar, and yet, the tune was nowhere.  The rhythm of his heartbeat was almost like percussion, a base conga in a symphony of pieced-together sounds, and the sleepy sparrows sang the melody, the night owl hooted a harmony.  Subconsciously.
    And the boy stopped crying, though tears gushed from his eyes.  His burnt blackened hair was askew and his eyes were red and...

Facts/Opinions About Me

1. I have a weird obsession with office supplies.
2. I have two cats.  I don't really care about the dog vs. cat wars, but if I had to take a side, it'd be cats.  Not that I have anything against dogs.
3. HARRY POTTER...Need I say more?
4. Slytherin.
5. I really like the feel of fuzzy fabrics.  I'll search through clothing stores just to find the soft things.
6. I support the Oxford comma in all of its being.
7. I like both writing and reading, but I'm not a super voracious reader.
8. I love photography.
9. My favorite candy is Three Musketeers.  Not because I like the taste, just because of the name.  Admittedly (using the same logic), Nerds are pretty good too.
10. Fidget spinners saved my life.
11. I'm that Shakespeare geek.
12. Twelve is my lucky number.

Open Prompt

Things

Just a cat sitting by a
window, the sunlight creating
spots on the glass,
shadowed by a maze
of branches,
blackened in the
morning light.

Just a worker crossing the
fields, calloused hands
dirty and veined,
handling the corn with
abstract worry,
tanned brow furrowed
over long-forgotten
things.

Just a star sitting
hazily in the coming
darkness, a pinprick of light
in a darkened atmosphere,
so different from its
neighbor but
regarded with the
same blind eye.

A Letter

Dear Sir Broatt,
    I know you wanted my daily input on my adventures in this universe, and, as usual, I have much to tell--ever since you told me the multiverse theory was true, I have been undergoing the rare experience of everything.
    This place is so odd.  Unlike our world, the air is riddled with sounds.  It seems people love to talk--they just throw their words out in their air so casually, even useless ones.  More than once I've had a stranger bump into me, and they actually told me they were sorry.  It was the strangest thing!  And the businessmen--much like in our world, sell bottled water and trashy things on the street, but you've no idea how often they shout.  Those people won't stop shouting, "Ice cold water for one dollar!"  You'd think one time is enough!  I'm surprised these people aren't mute, they use their voices so often.
    Another thing that's...

Open Prompt

Things

Just a cat sitting by a
window, the sunlight creating
spots on the glass,
shadowed by a maze
of branches,
blackened in the
morning light.

Just a worker crossing the
fields, calloused hands
dirty and veined,
handling the corn with
abstract worry,
tanned brow furrowed
over long-forgotten
things.

Just a star sitting
hazily in the coming
darkness, a pinprick of light
in a darkened atmosphere
so different from its
neighborhood but
overlooked with the
same blind
eye.

A Yellow Submarine

    Introduction:
    So I was just listening to the Beatles song "Yellow Submarine."  And I was thinking, what would we do if we actually did live in a yellow submarine?  Where would we go?  And then I wondered what it would look like through the windows, and what would be in the submarine, and who would be there.  So I wrote this, just as a sort of fantasy dreamland type thing, of what it would be like in a yellow submarine, and it sort of turned into an interesting and dark setting, with a character.

   
    Floating.  Not through space, like you might expect, through water.  But really, how different are water and space?  Actually, we're floating through lots of things.  Time, for instance.  And we're probably floating through a dozen chemicals, natural ones, in the ocean.  Yes, we're all truly living in a yellow submarine.  Not that I would know whether or not it was yellow, because...

Thanksgiving


Forks on the right
Better put your knives there too
(you'll be needing them).
Bread stuffing
Well, some like chestnut.
And pumpkin pie,
Drop the seeds in your
neighbor's glass
(if you don't want them).
Turkey's a classic,
particularly the drumsticks
that spout grease
and something worse.
The dog that nibbles food
from the floor
will have the fullest belly
of all.
Light a candle,
sing some songs
(if you're musical).
To everyone,
this is the dream: to be
grateful for everything
that comes to your life
but mostly
just to have the turkey.

untitled

Happy Thanksgiving!  

 

Some Things I Am Thankful For

    WARNING: THIS PIECE CONTAINS A LOT OF RANTS ABOUT HARRY POTTER, AND IF YOU HAVE NOT READ HARRY POTTER, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO CONTINUE.   

   I'm thankful that Earth exists, in many different ways.  I'm thankful, because it's the only planet to hold life, and without it, we'd all be nothing.  I'm also thankful that Earth held a form of life smart enough to build advanced civilizations and create sophisticated language, because I really like being human.  I'm also thankful that the Earth is tilted––however random that is--because without it we wouldn't have seasons, and it would be really sucky for our economy.

    I'm thankful for the regular things--and these things are cheesiest so I'll get them over with now--for my family, and my cats, and all of my extended family, and everything.  I'm thankful that I can have food and water and all of that, and I'm also really really thankful that I have regular access...

Names for Nature

Sardines

    One place I do seem to remember well was tiny park, connected to some small Christian college in the neighborhood.  The park must have had a name, at some point, but I don't remember it now.  What I can remember is lots and lots of hide-and seek, tag, and hide-and-go-seek-tag, with my mom and sister.  Beaten concrete sidewalks for paths.  A maze of small bushes, prickly and untrimmed, perfect for sneak attacks.  I can remember inhaling the scent of dirt and getting leaves stuck in my hair with my breath puffed out in front of me, crouching behind those bushes.
    We went there every season.  In summer, when my sister and I were alone in the house together, we would walk around the neighborhood and somehow find ourselves in that park, wrinkling our noses at the spiderwebs sewn between the fence gates, laughing and screaming as we threw ourselves behind oaks and maples while we played tag.  In...

Your Voice: Globalization

Untitled

We are all humans, so why do we care so much, about race, sex, religion, class...We've invented weapons to blow up the whole world, and the person that delivers the final blow will just be getting revenge on someone who disagrees with them.

Flash Autobiography

Banjo Twang

I have a task.  I'm almost upstairs, on the second to last step, covered in the center by a carpet and otherwise very dusty (I've found dead bugs before), and my cat runs into me.  The silly devil.  Not my squeaky, soft cat whose presence seems rather like a sticky spoon of honey, but the other one, with the crazy mind and the big belly and the head that's a little too small.  The fur that's gray––though lots call it brown, and that's just wrong.  She's my cat, so she has gray fur.
    She's the sweet one.  Not sticky, honey-sweet like the other one, but the mumbling, rumbling, cute one whose presence is subtle except when she's in a bad mood.  Then, of course, everyone notices her.  People are idiots, sometimes.
    I rub her belly, and she purrs.  Her purr sounds like the country twang of a banjo, though my sister disagrees.  Her whiskers match, stiff...

Chapter 1, The City

It was twilight.  The sun was gently setting, dipping below the serene landscape.  The hills, blackened by its brightness, were prickly with unmowed grass, because the man never cut it, but got paid a fair sum even so.  Clouds passed by in hazy wisps that were turned billowing black in the odd light.  He sat now, in a cafe East of the untrimmed hills.  The splintering wooden sign above the door frame read EAST HILLS CAFE.  It was a fairly odd place, more pub than restaurant, but its lights were on all day.  It was Winten there, in his spare time, which  all the time, and when it was some day special he found Dominicus or Lanzo or Ivor or someone  sitting there too.  And such a day was today.
    “Good day, isn’t it?” said Winten through a mouthful of tangy liquid.  His eyes were oddly bloodshot.  Behind him, the dim stars glittered through the window.  He coughed loudly. ...

People Do

The boy's name was Abram.  A fool's name.  He was slightly tall for his mind, which was very short by normal standards, and had a lot of copper-colored hair that extended past his hairline and into his temples and chin.  His was a very weak chin.
    Funny to think of temples, and their dual meaning.  He slapped the flat sides of his forehead as he thought of them, but he also stood beside a temple, a very abandoned, very crumbled structure, of some ancient religion Abram knew not.  He was a very stupid boy.
    Presently he stepped inside, out of curiosity and merely for the ignorance of it.  Well, he wasn't rightly curious, because "curious" was a term of eagerness and intelligence, and Abram had only the former.
    He was standing beside someone, too.  Someone barely one foot away, but he decided not to comment.  His da said, while he was still living, that...

Birdsong

Whippoorwill

Scratching hard
a cold lump stuck in
your throat, whippoorwill,
whippoorwill, whippoorwill–– Flying now, you're heart's
a dove, whippoorwill, if your throat
can bear it.
Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whipporwill.
See a crow over yonder,
caw, caw,
the clear voice nags at you
Perfect and distinct and full of
trickery.
Blurry now, wings spread over,
whippoorwill, whippoorwill,
and a caw, if you're generous.

Some such bad jokes you don't even know what a joke is anymore

What's brown and sticky?
A stick.

How does a pig write an essay?
With pen and oink.

What's something that's red and bad for your teeth?
A brick.

Did you hear about that noodle chef that died?
He pasta way.

What do you call a fish with no eyes?
A fsh.

What's orange and sounds like a parrot?
A carrot.  

Chirp

Quietly you chirped, as though
to nothing,
your jaw opening and closing
like a window showing your great
pink tongue.

Eraser

When it wasn't right
I erased
Much to your dismay.
You hated the feel of the eraser shavings on your
perfect paper.

I Don't Even Know Anymore

He was stiff and tall and rather like one of the old, dusty boards in the attic.  His skin was pale copper, his eyes much darker, and there was an aura of unpleasantness about him.
    I started the conversation, because the only way to know people is to talk to them, obviously.  "Well, how do you do?  Welcome!  We've been expecting you, of course.  You're right on time.  Could I take your coat, Mr.--?"  Here I paused.  It said on the page somewhere what his name was, but it was all blurry now.
    "Goldburg.  Gary Goldburg," he said, then added, "The second."  He paused at every fragment, breathing in hard from his nostrils.  The fiery end of his cigar was sticking out of his clenched fist.  His crooked knuckles were coated in ash.  "And yes.  You can."
    Slightly surprised, I took his coat, a thick, fur one that was about the same shade and...

The Peace of Wild Things

Forget

 When it hurts too much to think about,
forget;
and as I walk to the field
that smells like clover
and hickory seeds
I imagine this dirt
on which I tread
in a world
long ago.
A world where there were
real things
Things that you bump and
scratch, the wildest of
routines that would one
day loose their regularity and
just be called
natural.
In this place
of clover
and hickory seeds there is no
natural, the plainness of the sight
is a bitterly sweet thing;
simply
sun and shade
and lots of green,
which is
a rare sight.
 

Random Descriptive Piece

    The two girls approached home, eagerly and reluctantly, their schoolbags slung heavily over their shoulders and their faces aglow with the prospect of a fresh autumn.
    Behind them, the cement sidewalks were paved with aged rose petals, crimson leaves, browned ferns, and dirt generated healthily from hundreds of shoe prints.  The sky was a wonderfully dull shade of azure-grey, the temperature hovering around sixty degrees, so that the girls hugged the sleeves of their loose cotton jackets to their arms.
    Adeline was the older of the two, though she was shorter than Rosie, but she walked with the regality of one much more knowledgable in life's aspects.  She carried her stack of books neatly, under her arm, though the weight of the load seemed to be bothering her.  Rosie's face was eager, her awkwardly-cut features full of curiosity and relish for the surroundings.  Her schoolbooks were hugged to her chest sloppily, and occasionally she...

12 Bad Grammar Jokes

1. An exclamation mark and an octothorp sit at a restaurant, talking about their past dates.  The exclamation mark says, "I'll never date another apostrophe; it was too possessive!"  
The octothorp says, "Dude, #Problems."

2. A dangling modifier walks into a bar.  After finishing a drink, the bartender asks it to leave.

3. When comforting a grammar nerd, say softly, "There, their, they're."

4. I like cooking my family and pets.
    Commas matter.

5. The first mate on a pirate ship says, "The cannons be ready, captain."  The captain says, "ARE."

6. At a court case, the person in question says, "I didn't do nuthin'!"  The prosecutor says, "Aha!  A confession!"

7. My English teacher said, "Name two pronouns."  I said, "Who, me?"

8. Knock, knock.
    Who's there?
    To.
    To who?
    Actually, it's 'to whom.'

9. The importance of the Oxford comma:
    I had eggs, toast, and...

Afterlife, ch 8: PERFECT

    The Afterlife.
    Yeah, right.
    All I say is, “The what, exactly?”
    He nods, impatiently.  “Come, young’un, I’ll explain later.”
    “No, I think you’d better explain now.”  I’m rooted to the spot.  Can’t leave.  Not until I figure this out.
    “No.  Later.”  He looks me in the eye.  His blue eyes are piercing, but somber, and again comes his authoritative power, like he’s decades older than I am.
    “Can I ask you something?”  I’m feeling rather reckless.  Cooped up in a hospital bed for a month, dead, a salty two-foot ocean, and now this?  “Why do you call me ‘young’un?’  I’m only four or five years older than you are!”
    “Naivety comes with age, I suppose.”
    Now I’m angry.  If someone doesn’t make any sense, they should at least allow their victim a chance at sorting out the confusion.  His words hit me like a hammer, and I fire up unnecessarily quickly....

Afterlife, ch 7: MAN

I just sit there for a long time.  I am shaking and coughing, and I don’t know why.  I’m not even hurt.  There’s no one in sight, and I don’t know where I am.  But that’s not the scary part.  The scary part is that I’m alone, in a universe that makes no sense.  I’ve supposedly died, and I miss things about life.  I miss things making sense.  I miss Henry, already.  And Jake.  Never spent a day without Jake.
    I’m just so alone.
    I gaze around.  The bizarre ocean is still in front of me.  It’s low tide, and the waves aren’t coming very far up the beach.  Up this weirdly perfect beach.
    “Young man.”
    The voice startles me so much I jump, straight up in the air, like an alert jackrabbit.
    I gaze around in utter terror.  I haven’t heard a single voice since my own death––certainly hearing more can’t be a good...

Afterlife, ch 1: DYING

    I am dying.
    Really and truly dying.
    Everyone has said their last goodbyes; that was the worst part.  The worst part being that there weren’t many to whom to say goodbye.  There was Jake, my best friend.  Henry, my boyfriend.  A few cousins.  But I was born and raised an orphan, and anyway, I was done with college.
    I am currently waiting for the veil to fall over my face--Death, of course.  I feel like I already know Death, because over many occasion the veil has almost fallen.
    The time when I was eight and I was star-gazing on the roof of my foster-home, and I fell off, and only barely survived with my spinal cord intact.
    The time as a nineteen-year-old my friend and I went on a hike up a mountain, till we reached the view, at the top.  There it was, the void of below, with no railings, and my friend...

Riddles

1. You're on the road, and going to New York City, but you don't know the directions very well.  You come across an intersection and don't know which way to turn.  There's a house right at the intersection, and two twin brothers live there.  There are completely identical.  One always tells the truth and one always lies.  When you knock to ask for directions, one will come to the door and allow you to ask one question.  What is one question that both will answer the same, so you can get to New York City?

2. Imagine that you are shipwrecked on a bare island (no trees, vegetation, or clean water) with nothing but a five-inch strand of feeble rope with you.  How do you survive?

3. A man rides into town on a horse on Saturday.  He spends three days there and then goes back home.  However, he rides back on Friday.  How is this possible?

(Scroll down for...

Some of My Favorite Paradoxes

1. A shirt that says, "Make eye contact."

2. I always lie.

3. Okay, class, we're having a surprise test on Thursday!

4. A class is sharing "rose" and "thorn"s.  Someone says, "My rose is that I don't have a thorn and my thorn is that I don't have a rose."

5. This sentence is false.

6. Yes, greedy man gives his cash with sorrow. However, he doesn't have the cash with sorrow, so he gives what he doesn't have.

Afterlife, ch 6: FIXED

    This is bizarre.  So bizarre that again, I remind myself it can't be real.
    I appear to be standing in some sort of shallow, clear ocean.  There’s water up to my thighs, and I have resumed my normal body, except that unlike before, my body feels great.  Healthy.  I flex my arms.  I can feel strong muscles beneath my skin.  I haven’t felt that since the track team in seventh grade.
    It’s not all ocean, either.  There’s a vast, clear, two-feet body of water that is most of what I see, but beyond that, I can see something else.  Something very green, and brown.  It almost looks like land.
    I take a deep breath.  It’s time to start walking, but I haven’t actually walked for about a month.  My ailments didn’t allow me to walk, and before that I was always slightly lame in the right leg.  I always had to have specially modified shoes.  But...

Afterlife, ch 5: WATER

I am standing in two feet of water.  The sun shines overhead.
    My brain, wherever or whatever it is, has gone to sleep.
    Why?  Because this can’t be happening.  It’s a dream.  Or a hallucination.  Or something.  It can’t be real that I just died, and then odd words showed up like I was in a computer game, and now I’m here.  Or that I can blink when I don’t have eyelids.
    The sun is baking my skin.  The air smells of salt, just like it did when I was first dead.
    How odd it is, to sit here in two feet of salty water thinking about death and the afterlife.
    No.  There isn’t an afterlife.  There can’t be.  It defies science.
    Or does it?  Do we have any scientific proof of the dead?  We know the facts: That death is when the body stops working.  The end of life.  We revolve around life....

Afterlife, ch. 4: BLINK

I am stunned.  It must be a dream.  It can’t be real.  I am hallucinating.  Maybe I never died.  Maybe I am insane, and really I am in a mental hospital trying to get a grip on myself.   I am so shocked that I can feel it clogging up my eyesight.  But I don’t have eyesight!  Get a grip, get a grip.
    Blink four times, the message said.
    Hadn’t I already established that I didn’t have eyelids?
    But if I don’t have sight, how could I read the message?
    Very slowly, I try to blink.  To my utter surprise, for a moment, the words vanish.  I blink again.  They vanish again.
    How is this possible if I don’t have eyelids?
    Or do I?
    I blink again, then once more, and the world tips upside down.

Afterlife, ch. 3: BRAINS

I am flying through a world of color and sound, into a present blackness that is closing in on everything.  I am there, but I can’t so much as move my fingers.  I can’t feel myself, and I have the strange sense that I’m not human anymore.  Can you be human in death?
    I have no head to turn, no eyes to blink, no nails to bite, anything.  I don’t even think that I have eyes, because I can’t really see anything.  Well, there are little blurred splashes of some kind of color, but it looks more like the space behind my eyelids than anything interesting.
    Is this death?  No body, and a void of some odd nothingness?
    Death is eternal, so they say.  I will have to look at this nothingness forevermore.
    How come I can think if I don’t have a brain anymore?  How can I get bored if I am dead?  Now that’s...

Afterlife, ch. 2: DEATH

I can feel the blackness before I see it.  It’s like an ocean, and I smell salt.  Patches of nothing blot my blurred vision of the ceiling tiles.  They take over, swirling and expanding, and I can feel it.  A floating piece of something.  Something impossible, not quite solid, almost vapor.  I know it’s the veil.  I’ve felt it before.  I close my eyes.  I need to choose my last words, while I still can.
    I take a deep breath.  The nearest nurse is a few yards away, but if I speak loudly enough he or she will still be able to hear me.
    “GOD BLESS––” I begin, but I can feel my vocal chords starting to fail.  I struggled to get the sounds out.  I start on “th” but I can feel my mouth drying up.  I persist. I can feel my voice cracking.  My entire body is shutting down.
    Now nobody will be able to...

Afterlife, ch 1: DYING

    I am dying.
    Really and truly dying.
    Everyone has said their last goodbyes; that was the worst part.  The worst part being that there weren’t many to whom to say goodbye.  There was Jake, my best friend.  Henry, my boyfriend.  A few cousins that had to visit be for the last time.  But I was born and raised an orphan, and anyway, I was done with college.
    I am currently waiting for the final veil to fall over my face.  The veil being Death, of course.  I feel like I already know Death, because over many occasion the veil has almost fallen.
    The time when I was eight and I was star-gazing on the roof of my foster-home, and I fell off, and only barely survived with my spinal cord intact.
    The time as a nineteen-year-old my friend and I went on a hike up a mountain, till we reached the view, at the...

My Favorite Paradox

I always lie.

Incorrect?
Defies nature
and logic?
Just know
this is my first truth.

Okay,
maybe I do always lie.

Persuasive Piece: My opinion about the Hogwarts Houses and Online Sorting Quizzes (For Potterheads)

This is an article entirely devoted to Harry Potter.  If you have not read Harry Potter, please do not continue to read.
    The Hogwarts Houses, created by JK Rowling, are a fun and creative way to categorize your personality freely, and share a sense of community and belonging with those similar to you.  However, in my opinion, many of the original Houses are recategorized into less realistic concepts.  For example, Slytherin, the House which supposedly carried more dark witches and wizards than any other, is often judged by its tendency to carry Death Eaters.  However, this Muggle world in which we live is, no doubt, extremely different from the invented Wizarding World that takes place in the Harry Potter series.  I have no doubt that there are people as horrible as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and as astonishingly brave as Harry Potter, but the simple fact is that our world is less chaotic than the Wizarding one.  People like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Harry...

On the Last Day of the World

Runners at Heart

On the last day of the world, I would run a mile
Run a mile
To see
Everything, as far as the land goes
I would run around the world
Three times
And then do it
In the opposite direction.
On the last day of the world, I would plant a tree
Plant a tree
To grow
A new abundance
Of rare specimens
I would plant a million trees
And a million more,
And water them
three times more.
On the last day of the world, I would have a wish
Have a wish
That was
If the world should end,
We should all be happy
In our resting place
And in our spirits
Run halfway around the galaxy,
And then the other halfway
Until we were
Runners at heart.

Tongue on Fire

I had never tasted anything quite like it before.  My tongue was on fire; no, my entire mouth was on fire.  Each flame sent sparks flying, each spark manifested itself deep into my taste buds and began to burn some more.  I could barely breath.  I seized a cup of water, the ice sliding against my burning lips, and felt a moment of relaxation.  I put the glass down again, and again it began to flame up.  Huge, great flames. The whole universe must be feeling it.
    "Are jalepenos always this bad?" I coughed, spluttering through chunks of ice as I again raised the glass to my lips.
    "Jalepenos?" Jack looked at me like I was crazy.  "Dude, that's sourdough!"

Why I Write

Why I Write

    I write because there are some things I can only describe through text.  I write because it paints a picture: a beautiful picture of words, that will never be tattered or ripped or worn away the way paintings are.  I write because like a painting every time you come back you can see something wonderful, a tiny little detail you never noticed before.
    

Omniscient Lens

Water Collage

The water was crisp and and cold and rippled as a fresh layer of azure paint.  Exactly what was disturbing it, I couldn't be sure.  Something lurking deep in its depths, probably.  I leaned forward.  It gave off a good smell, like dirt and slime and autumn.  My reflection peered back at me as I did this, a distorted image swimming on the surface of the water, all of it tinted gray from the water.  Other reflections were pasted there too: I could see the clouds, the distant trees, and the dirty bottoms of my boots as their toes hung off of the dock.  I could see part of the dock too: the reflected stiff wooden posts eventually joining with the real ones, all in the water.  The water was like some sort of fantastical collage, where everything was glued: the trees and the sky and the ground, and even my shoes.  I leaned over it.  Now my face was...

Dialogue Dexterity

Conversation

    The news lies open on the table, so I know at least that one person is home.  I set down my belongings, pull my hat off my head, and scratch the cat behind the ears.
    "Wilson!" I call.  My voice is slightly raspy; it's been a long day.
    My brother appears at the top of the stairs.
    "What?" he asks.  His untidy mop of hair is covering his eyes.  He has his headphones on again.
    "Nothing," I say, but I'm pleased to see him.  His face is the only carefree one I've seen all day.
    "Well, why did you call me down?"  Through the tufts of hair, I can see he's annoyed.
    "No reason."
    "Well, what was the point?"  Wilson starts back up the stairs.  He's never happy until he's had his 6 pm cup of coffee.
    "Oh, come on.  Don't use the headphones." ...

Third Person Limited

Woman

    She was a crooked figure, bent by age or perhaps something more sinister.  The corners of her mouth were drawn tight, though wrinkles had loosened most of her stern face.  Only her eyes remained hard.  She sat now, a ragged, patched sweater drawn over her skeleton-like body, a once strong figure that now looked so wispy and unstable a gust of wind might have blown her off of her perch of the stone steps of the library.  To every person that passed, she muttered only one word: "Bless," as though she were trying to say "God bless you," the way a kindly person might, but couldn't quite get all the words out.  Even she wasn't sure why she was bothering; she didn't want the strangers' money, or sympathy, or anything.  She did not have a home, it was true (well, unless you counted the library), but she did not want anything to do with the few bits of metal...

Writing Small

Fire

    Fire seems only to spread, and never to die.
    Perhaps someday the entire world will be engulfed in great crimson tongues.  Greedy tongues, that can only gobble things down and throw ash back up.
    Perhaps the entire thing started with one matchstick, that was struck and spread and never died.

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